


and all i ever knew (only you)

by jamestkirk



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Drabble, M/M, more hurt about the "you go too fast for me" line but in the opposite direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 10:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19374625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamestkirk/pseuds/jamestkirk
Summary: “It’s just that I- well, you know us, Crowley. We’re different.” Crowley’s ears are buzzing, his heart seized up in preparation for the rejection that’s coming. “I like to keep things the same. I like my bookshop and I like the way that I dress. I’ve barely changed my hair in six thousand years. I don’t see the point in- inchangingthings, when they work. And well, youdogo so fast. I don’t think I’ve seen you keep the same hair for more than a year. Which, for us is- well, I don’t have to tellyou. Your clothes, too. Or when you picked up acting. Or poetry. Or bird watching.”





	and all i ever knew (only you)

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this post](https://darthvcder.tumblr.com/post/185871218203/carocane-crowley-spends-6-thousand-years-on) because it hurt me.
> 
> this is just a short little thing lmao
> 
> title is from only you by yaz

The drive back to London isn’t a long one. An angel and a demon sit together in the back of an empty bus, their hands clasped between them as well as a comfortable silence. Aziraphale has his head tipped against Crowley’s shoulder, a distant sort of look in his eyes that Crowley is having a hard time pinning down. He’s not faring much better, though he has to say things are looking more optimistic than during the Apocawasn’t. 

By the time they get back to his flat, they’re both feeling the events of the day starting to wear on them. For the first time in six thousand years, Crowley’s pretty sure he can see dark circles underlining Aziraphale’s eyes. The silence still isn’t broken as they climb the steps to his penthouse, or as Crowley fumbles with the keys to unlock his door, far too spent to miracle the lock open. 

The door shuts behind them with a resounding _click_ , leaving them blinking in the dark of his flat. Crowley’s fingers tighten around his keys, turning to come face to face with Aziraphale. They watched each other in the dark, breath they didn’t need stopped somewhere in their throats. If he were one for cheesy cliches, he might say the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Too many close calls, nearly having to fight a celestial war against one another until one of them disappeared for good (not that Crowley would’ve participated, but he has the feeling it wouldn’t have mattered much anyway). Too many words they hadn’t spoken to each other in the six thousand years since a Garden, a snake, and an angel that cared a bit too much. 

Before he can talk himself out of it, he’s bringing his hand up to frame that beautiful curve of Aziraphale’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek. He takes a quiet breath, searching his eyes before pulling him into a kiss, eyes slipping shut as the world shifts just a little bit. Aziraphale is still against him a moment, sending a nervous flutter to Crowley’s stomach as he prepares to pull back. But then Aziraphale sighs against his lips, practically melting against him as his fingers come to rest featherlight on his forearm and he starts to return the kiss. 

It’s soft, sweet, but Crowley still pulls back after a few breaths to rest their foreheads together, nose brushing up against his angel’s. “...not going too fast, am I?” It’s half teasing, a small smile at the corner of his lips, but mostly sincere. After all, they’d caused him to back off for the better part of five decades. 

Aziraphale’s ears turn slightly pink, his eyes dropping from Crowley’s. “Oh. You remember that?” 

Crowley almost laughs. It’s a near thing, but he pulls back slightly to give them both room. “ _Do I remember that_?” he parrots back. “Hard not to, angel.” There’s a little knit between Aziraphale’s brow and Crowley’s trying not to let the pain he’d felt at the rejection slip into his tone. He must fail, because Aziraphale is pulling back a little further, looking back up at him and looking just this side of sheepish and ever so slightly guilty. 

“I- Oh, Crowley. That’s not what I meant,” he says, as if it’s just dawning him how those words might’ve been taken, fifty years too late. 

“Don’t try and tell me you were talking about my _driving_.” He lets his hand fall, his walls coming up in all their familiar glory as he steps back from the angel. He’s glad he hasn’t taken off his glasses, because he’s not sure what his eyes might betray in that moment. 

For his part, Aziraphale is looking positively nervous, his hand dropping from where it had held Crowley’s forearm to join his other hand clasped in front of him, wringing them slightly. He opens his mouth, apparently trying to find words, before shutting it again. Crowley doesn’t want to hear it, starting to move away from him, hand going to his hair as he begins to pace ever so slightly. The nerves are back, racing up his spine and down again. He knows what Aziraphale is going to say next. That he’s sorry, but he’s not ready. That they can’t _possibly_ do this, he’ll tell him. The kiss was a mistake- 

His train of thought is interrupted by Aziraphale’s voice, quiet and almost ashamed. “It’s just that I- well, you know us, Crowley. We’re different.” Crowley’s ears are buzzing, his heart seized up in preparation for the rejection that’s coming. “I like to keep things the same. I like my bookshop and I like the way that I dress. I’ve barely changed my hair in six thousand years. I don’t see the point in- in _changing_ things, when they work. And well, you _do_ go so fast. I don’t think I’ve seen you keep the same hair for more than a year. Which, for us is- well, I don’t have to tell _you_. Your clothes, too. Or when you picked up acting. Or poetry. Or bird watching.” 

Aziraphale swallows and Crowley’s been lost for a few moments now, having stopped his pacing to watch in complete and utter confusion. He feels a pit in his stomach. He gets the feeling he knows where this is going and it’s worse than the rejection he’d been subjected to. Aziraphale continues, oblivious to the slow dread the demon’s feeling. “And, I- well, I thought, it wouldn’t be- that far fetched, that you might get… bored. Of me too.” The last few words are barely above a whisper, Aziraphale’s gaze dropped down to his hands and a little frown tugging at his lips. 

Crowley’s hand has long since dropped from the nervous carding through his hair. Slowly, the feeling comes back to his limbs and the static clears from his head as he steps towards Aziraphale. He looks pained. Somebody, but they’ve been stupid. “...angel, what’s the same? After all these years, what’s the one thing I haven’t changed?” 

Aziraphale’s brow crumples, looking as lost as Crowley had felt just a few moments before. “I’m afraid I couldn’t know the answer to that. Your hair’s never changed color. Or your Bentley, you do seem quite attached to-” 

“You.” That stops the angel’s guessing, his head snapping up as the confusion turns to something far more cautious. “It’s always been you, Aziraphale. Six thousand years and it’s still you.” Aziraphale’s still staring at him and those beautiful eyes look so stunned, so painfully similar to the look he’d seen from the corner of his eyes all those years ago in a burned out church. Slowly, he comes back to him, reaching out for the angel’s hand. He feels a bit foolish. It might’ve all happened quite a bit sooner if they’d just _talked_. “I could never get bored of you, angel,” he continues, quiet and earnest. Something he very rarely is. But, for Aziraphale, he’s done quite a lot of things he doesn’t _usually_ do. 

“Oh.” It’s faint, Aziraphale blinking as the words seem to settle around him. Then, he’s smiling, sliding his fingers between Crowley’s own and giving them a soft squeeze. “Well, that’s-” 

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Crowley interrupts, pulling a face. “It’s bad enough, pouring my heart out like some lovesick-” 

Aziraphale stops his protests by leaning up to kiss him squarely on the lips. “It’s lovely, Crowley. It is. And I won’t hear a word to the contrary.” Bastard. He squeezes the demon’s hand again. “Now, let’s figure out what we’re going to do about the powers that be and then we can talk about just how incredibly stupid we’ve been.” 

Crowley nods, the angel’s smile infectious as he leans in to kiss him again, a bit deeper this time. “So I can’t tempt you to a few hours in between?” 

Aziraphale’s free hand comes to rest on his hip. “Now, I didn’t say that.” 


End file.
